


Wings Befit A Proper Devil

by Wanderlust_Novadust



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: I guess LEMON since I know Tumblr is bringing that term back, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Lemon, M/M, NSFW, Porn, Smutt, body praise, body praise kink, handjob, headcanon based, it's toward the end that handjob but it's there, reverse cowboy, self conscious Crowley is the only Crowley I know how to write, sensitive wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-03
Updated: 2019-07-03
Packaged: 2020-06-03 05:57:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19457785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wanderlust_Novadust/pseuds/Wanderlust_Novadust
Summary: To preface this, this is based on headcanons of mine back when I read the book about four or so years ago. While I did borrow the sort of tone to things like speech from the show, I've shipped these guys a while. So, in other words, that is why Crowley doesn't have his giant, beautiful, black wings from the show and has wings more akin to the book cover. Hope you enjoy!





	Wings Befit A Proper Devil

**Author's Note:**

> To preface this, this is based on headcanons of mine back when I read the book about four or so years ago. While I did borrow the sort of tone to things like speech from the show, I've shipped these guys a while. So, in other words, that is why Crowley doesn't have his giant, beautiful, black wings from the show and has wings more akin to the book cover. Hope you enjoy!

“Oh, they’re adorable!”

“Shut up, you know they aren’t.”

The last thing Anthony J. Crowley planned on talking abut during their current rendezvous was the size of Crowley’s wings. Sitting across from the man, prim and proper in the fancy chair of a very kind and compassionate angel’s back store, was the crumpled up demon who’s wings popped out during his drunken stupor. Crowley was beginning the natural and slower version of sobering up at that point, and he was very disappointed to be outed for his little, embarrassing secret as he was at the half way point.

“Come now, they’re so… You know?”

Aziraphale had already wandered his (also half drunk) self over to the chair where his demonic companion sat holding his legs to his chest and trying to not look at the man looking at him. It was a sort of panic, drunken, ‘If I cannot see you, then you cannot see me’ sort of mentality. This didn’t help as Aziraphale’s fingers grazed the leather of Crowley’s entirely charming wings. 

They were like the sort of thing you’d see on a book cover, one might suppose. A book about angels and demons, heaven(s) and hell(s), the sha-bang of the apocalypse, or some other fight involving supernatural creatures. The cover would feature a demon, and the demon would have wings that were more like that of a bat than that of a bird’s (which, if there was a version of the cover featuring an angel, the angel would most certainly have.) However, there was one key component missing to the badass description you would associate to this great demon on the cover (and their magnificent wings): Crowley’s wings were small.

“I know what, they’re pathetic,” Crowley murmured as his wing flinched from the touch.

“Nonsense! Crowley, you mustn’t be so hard on yourself. They suit you!”

Crowley’s wing rested back into place and right into Aziraphale’s waiting hand. His face heated up a bit at the contact, and he’d learned by now exactly what that meant. For a moment, Crowley was glad that Aziraphale’s attention lay on his wings and not his face. 

“Can you fly with them?”

“Angel,” Crowley sighed. “I don’t fly with them.”

“So you can fly at least?”

“I mean, I suppose.” Crowley paused. “Should I want to fly, it would hardly be any effort.”

Aziraphale took that as an answer, hand exploring the black and slate gray, and watching the little reactions from Crowley. The goosebumps appearing on his neck, the peeks of pink gracing his face, the the way he’d blink and look away quickly—as though a moment ago he hadn’t been looking Aziraphale’s way expectantly. Aziraphale found himself curious and ready to find answers.

“What is it like, having… Well, wings without feathers, if I’m being honest.”

Crowley hesitated a bit, Aziraphale’s hand now more firmly rubbing into part of the membrane. After a swallow though, Crowley did get the words out of his mouth.

“Well, cold. It can be quite cold having them out. Not really the warmest, as you might imagine.”

“Oh, of course… I wonder if I could make something to keep them warm?”

“Please, don’t,” Crowley begged with a chuckle.

“Why not? You’d look too cute for words with something nice and cozy over your batty wings,” Aziraphale teased.

“What’re you going to do, start knitting things for the gargoyles too?”

“Well! Gothic architecture is rather dull, is it not,” Aziraphale said with the hint of a contained laugh.

Crowley snapped however, laughing quite a bit at that last comment. His wings fluttered a few times in response, shocking Aziraphale (who stepped back a bit to leave space for them to move about.) They were surprisingly animated, and had quite the reach for things that (when measured from their out position to the floor) didn’t even meet Crowley’s waist.

As he calmed down, Aziraphale came back, hand now settling on the forearm of his left wing. That seemed to get quite the reaction out of Crowley, as he slid his hand down and toward the ‘fingers’ of it. He would’ve assumed it was just comfort had it not been for the gasp and swallow from Crowley to accompany the action. There was a bit of mischief in Aziraphale’s forming smirk when he finally noticed the tension. He hadn’t entirely realized he’d been leaning over so far to look until Crowley turned his head and they were face to face.

“Angel…”

“Crowley.”

“Aziraphale.”

“Crowley?”

“Having fun there?”

“Oh, lots,” Aziraphale said with a proud glimmer to his eyes.

Crowley was almost taken aback by how forward the response was, but before he had the time to let the gears in his brain controlling his wit get turning, Aziraphale had already fired back with a question of his own.

“What about you, hmm? You seem like you could use a little assistance.”

Crowley knew exactly what Aziraphale was talking about. As Aziraphale leaned back upright, Crowley turned in the chair. He almost looked saddened as the wind slipped away from his hand, but then he’d focused back on Crowley’s face. Maybe there was a moment where Aziraphale thought to say that sitting in the chair facing the back and talking to him wasn’t the most convenient for what he was very certain was coming next, but he decided he would at least let Crowley get a word in before he went babbling on about how a chair was really not the place to do things. (Nontheless while facing the back of it.)

“With how handsy you’ve been with my wings, I’d assume you’re the one who needs a little assistance, if you catch my meaning.”

“Well, I’d certainly appreciate it,” Aziraphale said with a red dust over his cheeks.

Crowley turned back around, getting out of the chair and looking around. He had to take a few sweeping glances around before he realized that he had no idea where Aziraphale’s bed room was. Did he have a bed room? He had to, they’d spent a few nights together in it! Well… He supposed he’d better just ask.

“Say, you have a bed room in here, right?”

Crowley was looking over to Aziraphale as everything around them changed. Indeed, they were now standing in a bed room as antique and decadent as the bookshop Crowley had just been seeing moments ago. With a few full body turns, he reaffirmed that this was the room from before.

“Miracles must be real abundant right now, huh?”

Crowley sauntered over to his angel proudly, wings stretched out a bit in a way that almost made him seem bigger. Stuck out with his smirk, he reeked of pure demonic pride.

“Well, you could say that,” Aziraphale muttered as Crowley got to opening his jacket first. He slipped it off there after, about to tell Crowley he could undress himself when he was already unbuttoning his undershirt.

“Somebody seems eager,” Crowley snickered.

“I could say the same to you,” Aziraphale said with a little giggle.

It wasn’t long before Crowley’s hands lingered back and Aziraphale was left topless. Crowley commented on such proudly.

“Perhaps we’re both eager! There is no eager one, but a pair of eagers. An eager two.”

“Perhaps,” Aziraphale said, still ever entertained with his demon.

“Oh, wait,” he said as Crowley got onto his knees. Crowley did wait. Patiently, kneeling in front of him, wondering what the hold up was.

“I hardly can reach your wings from down there… I want to be the one doing tonight.”

Crowley was no about to argue with receiving. At the very least, he wouldn’t protest with it on principle. However, this was something else entirely, because he’d mentioned the wings which were still out and still shamefully tiny. He let himself be led over to the bed and past the veil, he even laid on the sheets and blankets that you’d swear were only fit for royals they were so decorated in patterns over top notch fabric.

This all stopped once he was naked and laying down; Crowley just did not have it in him. Besides, laying back on wings was highly uncomfortable! So, he’d just hidden them away again. There it was, though… That sad look on Aziraphale’s face. Those puppy-dog eyes staring at you, shiny and full of love, but also full of so much disappointment. It wasn’t the sort of disappointment as when you did drugs or came home in a cop car as a teenager, that look in your father’s eyes that could easily be mishandled as anger and frustration. It also wasn’t that look of disappointment that you get when you’re dog’s peed on the floor for the third time that day and you’re absolutely ready to lose it and cry in a heap.

The look of disappointment in Aziraphale’s eyes was that of a concerned partner who only wanted to try and find a way to make the love of his life feel better about a thing that pained him.

Crowley didn’t miss a beat, however. If his angel wanted to try and help him, well! Be his guest. Crowley flipped himself over, propping up his head with his cheek in his palm as he glanced back and released the wings all over again.

“What’s with the look? Just moving around.”

“Nothing,” Aziraphale said with a relieved sigh woven into the words.

It wasn’t long before Aziraphale was on the bed next to Crowley, and as he switched hands to look at him before he piped up with his question.

“Not getting right to it? I figured being stripped, I was at least getting a handjob.”

“Well, we will get to it,” Aziraphale began, hand starting on Crowley’s shoulder. “But I want to take it a bit slow, yes?”

“Ah, I get it,” Crowley sighed as Aziraphale’s hand got to where human body ended and demonic wing began. This was Aziraphale’s study before he got to doing anything particularly fun, mostly because by now he was very curious! Perhaps adding a sort of attractive layer to things would even improve Crowley’s confidence. This was the mentality he was running on, recalling how much Crowley loved feeling “sexy,” as he would put it. 

Up the forearm of the wing, and to the fingers, as he’d heard them called… He noticed that closer to where things connect, he’d gotten a shiver and small sound out of Crowley, but he wasn’t getting reactions quite so intense by just feeling along the ‘arm and fingers’ of the wing. Now for the membrane, he supposed… Aziraphale’s fingers barely did more than graze it when Crowley rather dramatically brought some of the blanket up to his face to muffle himself. Muffled or not, Aziraphale heard, and Aziraphale was learning quick. 

Crowley was a little preoccupied as Aziraphale got his pants off, but when he moved the blanket, it was just in time. 

“I’d like you to move just a bit, alright?”

“’Course, Angel.”

Crowley found himself in an old favorite position of his, though a little less typical to how he did it. Reverse cowboy, if he’s being honest. Aziraphale was sat up against the long backboard of the bed, Crowley was back to him and ready to take his cock, the whole works. Crowley did not need to ask many questions to know why Aziraphale had positioned him like this. The answer was simple and obvious: for easy access to the source of many an uncomfortable shades of blush and stammers to Crowley’s voice.

It certainly was easy access, he was quickly realizing. About halfway down, haven’t even begun really moving yet, and Aziraphale was trailing one of the pair of hands that were planet on his hips up to the base of his wing. He just wouldn’t leave them alone, huh? Crowley was heavily encouraged by the jolt in the arm that was the touch to slam down, however.

“Oh! Are you alright,” Aziraphale asked, about to move his hand.

Crowley stopped him, trying to move his hand back as he waited to get moving with his hips. Aziraphale rested his hand back at the base, but made no attempts to feel over it or rub into the skin yet. He waited for Crowley’s assurance.

“I’m alright, Love,” Crowley said as he realized that was what Aziraphale had been waiting for. “Just caught off guard. Real sensitive…”

Aziraphale hummed a bit in response, the hand still resting at Crowley’s hip thumbing gentle circles into the soft, human skin as some form of comfort for any pain the self inflicted suddenness might have brought. He was a bit shocked to find that Crowley was not in pain, or that even if he was, he was already moving some. Slowly, adjusting somewhat visibly, but moving nevertheless. Aziraphale was hardly going to argue.

“You’re doing good, Darling.”

Crowley nodded just enough to be noticeable, earning a soft smile from the Angel he was riding. Now, Aziraphale enacted phase two of his curious little experiments. Guiding the wing back with his hand, he gave the outermost finger of the wing a lick. The taste was nothing extremely special, salty with sweat and otherwise dryer than the desert. This was not the reason Aziraphale had tried this howbeit, he was doing it for the reaction he’d get out of Crowley (which was priceless.) The shocked moan, the way the wing nearest to Aziraphale tensed to try and keep from moving while the other flapped, the way he quickly slammed back down before resuming his prior, agonizingly slow pace…

Overall, Aziraphale would say that reaction was worth the lack luster taste.

“C-can you keep doing that,” Crowley tried to say with as much composition as he could gather in the few seconds his wing went without touch. It ached, it begged to be touched now. Where there were once fingers and a tongue was now the growing neediness that felt as though it were sewn right into his skin; it was like an itch that didn’t beg to be scratched, and instead, begged to be rubbed and caressed as loving and sensually as possible. 

“Gladly,” Aziraphale chirped as he got back to it. 

Crowley had sped up significantly, the slow trail of Aziraphale’s tongue up the finger to the start of the forearm alone being enough to drive Crowley wild. Aziraphale went a step further. He took that free hand that had guided the wing there in the first place and began using that to rub careful circles into the thin membrane of the wing, and that’s when the deep, gnawing need to be touched hit the other wing as well. 

It was practically shoved in Aziraphale’s direction. Aziraphale didn’t entirely notice it at a first, caught up in how quick Crowley had gotten with his hips—but once he did he knew exactly what he’d wanted him to do with it. He released Crowley’s hip, now using the other hand to feel along the new, untouched wing’s forearm first. 

“Such sensitive beauties,” Aziraphale commented, and Crowley could feel his breath against his wing. It made his hairs stand on end, it only made that clawing sense of urgency in them more intense. “And I must make this very clear, they are quite beautiful.”

Crowley whimpered a bit, not able to handle the praise. He couldn’t retort before Aziraphale continued, however. 

“I’d cherish a pair like this… Far more attractive than large and boisterous wings that just get in the way all the time.”

With that, Aziraphale didn’t leave Crowley a window to react. He licked a stripe up the membrane of the wing that so readily thrust itself toward him—and he savored the moment when Crowley’s voice cracked. Aziraphale may have been calm and contentedly close, but Crowley? He was absolutely lost to it all, wrapped up in the pleasure of what was in him and feeling what may have been the second most sensitive parts of him.

It wasn’t long after he’d gotten a few more licks in that Aziraphale was about at his limit, however. Without entirely thinking, he’d grabbed Crowley’s hips and urged him on just a bit speedier, slamming him down a significant amount harder than he’d been landing himself. It a few of Crowley’s cries and a grunt from Aziraphale that led into him cumming right inside of him, filling that pretty little ass of his until a little tried to leak out.

Aziraphale leaned into the backboard, but he’d noticed Crowley was not so done yet. He clambered up and off of him before sitting on his legs. 

“You’re not getting up,” he said with a hint of embarrassment, wings folded up behind his back.

“I’m not,” Aziraphale questioned with an amused twinkle to his eyes.

“You’re not,” Crowley assured with a flutter of his now far more expressive wings.

“Er, why is that,” Aziraphale questioned, despite having a few good ideas as to what the answer would be.

Crowley didn’t answer, shuffling a bit. He wanted a little more help, but after that display? His little demon was beyond humiliated, he imagined. However… However. Aziraphale recognized the expectant gaze, the pout masking pleading to be pleased, the fact his eyes would track even the tiniest twitch of Aziraphale’s body, this all meant one thing: Crowley was being playfully stubborn.

“Come here.”

Crowley scooted up a bit, not wasting a moment, looking at Aziraphale with far less hidden anticipation. Aziraphale leaned back so they were mere inches away, and he closed that distance with a kiss. Crowley melted into that almost immediately, Aziraphale’s hand hovering it’s way down to his cock to finish him off the rest of the way. He didn’t tease; he didn’t think it felt like a night for that. Instead, he got a brisk pace going, jerking him off up until he moaned rather suddenly into the kiss, hands that had been on Aziraphale’s shoulders clawing into them as he was allowed to ride out the high.

When Aziraphale drew away, there was absolutely a mess on the both of them. Crowley rather lazily laid down next to him, beat and not ready to get up and do things like clean up. Who cleans up these days? Not Anthony J. Crowley.

“We don’t speak of this,” he eventually piped up.

“Of this,” Aziraphale asked with a crack to his voice, sounding almost offended.

“No, no, not this… But the other this.”

Aziraphale realized, as the wings disappeared again, that those were the “this” that they would not speak of.

“Oh, I suppose I can keep my mouth shut for a while,” Aziraphale said as he combed a finger through Crowley’s hair.

“That’s good enough,” Crowley purred as he found himself drifting off next to his forbidden love.


End file.
